The Esme Cullen Scholarship Program
by NinaQ
Summary: You thought all Esme did was decorate!          Warning:  this story contains cavity causing sweetness, just like Esme herself!


**The Esme Cullen Scholarship Program.**

**Author's Note:**

Have you dreamed about winning one of the enormous lottery jackpots? This is my dream. Since I can't seem to remember to buy a ticket, Esme will have to do it for me. I hope you enjoy.

keriarentikai: Thanks for the proofing and encouragement.

Disclaimer: I just figured Esme was probably bored and gave her something to do. All the Twilight magic belongs to Stephanie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Esme. Over here." I smile as I turn my head toward the familiar voice while shaking out my umbrella and hanging my coat. Angela Weber has been running this small women's shelter in Seattle for the last five years. She deals with the daily trials of housing and feeding ten women and their children. Somehow she manages it with quiet grace and humor. I've watched her break up fights, clean up vomit, and console bruised, broken-hearted women. Her dedication to her work inspires me. More importantly, she has become a friend in the time I've been volunteering here.

Over the years of working in close quarters, I can tell that she knows something is a bit off in my physical appearance. I'm grateful she never asks too many questions. Her desire for an extra pair of hands beats out the curiosity. I love my time here each week. The hard work is enjoyable and I believe that it is important to be useful. There never seems to be an end to the flow of women and children filling these beds. My duties have included minding children so the mothers can attend a job interviews, changing bed linens, working in the kitchen and any of the other hundred tasks that need completing. Occasionally, one of my children will accompany me. Rose especially enjoys reading to the children, but it is Alice who is with me today.

Dodging my way through a group of children playing tag, I hold a document folder high out of the fray. Alice just manages to dodge a sticky-fingered tot intent on grabbing her skirt.

When I reach Angela's side, I give her a gentle hug. She embraces me but moves back quickly, kneeling to console a crying casualty of the game. "It's good to see you," she says, smiling over the silky brown hair of the little girl. "How did Heather and the kids settle in? I've been wondering."

"They are completely moved into the new house. She finished her student-teaching and has a job offer from a local private school. We are so proud of her and the boys," I reply eagerly. I was impressed at Angela's memory for detail. It has been over three years since Heather and her sons had lived here at the shelter. It occurs to me that she would see so many unhappy endings. Hopefully we can start on another happy ending here again today. Alice is all but bouncing at my side. She's never been good at keeping her anticipation in check.

Angela straightens and passes the toddler back into the arms of her mother. As she meets my gaze she becomes serious. "I put Carla and her daughter in the small lounge. All I told her was that this is an interview for a work/study program. Every time we do this I have the same mixed feelings. It's so hard to choose. They all need so much." She looks around the crowded room with resignation.

I nod, knowing that this is bitter-sweet for her. "Of everyone you recommended, she is the best candidate," I state quietly so we are not overheard. She simply nods once and gives me a last shaky smile.

I return her smile and pat her shoulder. Alice hums to herself as we make our way toward the lounge.

Knocking gently at the artificial wood grain of the lounge door, we wait to hear the quiet "come in" before entering.

Sitting at a battered round wooden table is a young woman. A girl of two is playing on the floor with a set of worn blocks. Mother and daughter have matching blond curls and bright blue eyes. Those genes must run strong in her family, I think, amusing myself. I cross to the table and wait, while Alice takes a seat on the chair behind me. She crosses her legs and begins to bounce her foot. Alice is rarely still.

"Good morning Ms. Vance. My name is Esme Cullen and this is my daughter, Alice. Please feel free to call me Esme. May I call you Carla?" She meets my eyes and smiles widely. Her instincts tell her that this is more than a job interview. Her slightly overeager look shifts to Alice who nods at her and then back to me. "May I sit down?" I ask quietly.

"Please," she replies, motioning to the seat across from her. She is plainly nervous but working to appear professional. I sit and slowly place the folder on the table beside me using the time to take in her appearance. Her eyes are clear but have the look of someone who had not had a decent night's sleep in some time. Pale skin covers arms that are too thin. Glancing again to the little girl I note round-cheeked health. Before reaching the shelter she was probably skipping meals to make sure her daughter got enough to eat. It's a common enough story here. I turn my gaze back to find those blue eyes appraising me as well. The times I envied Edward were rare, but this was one of them. I'd love nothing more right at this moment than to get a peek inside her head.

I know the concrete details of her life story already. Jasper has managed to pull a staggering amount of detail from the internet. We've reviewed it all in-depth. Those details are not what interest me right now. I came here today to find out the things that cannot be printed from any database.

Having performed this interview multiple times in the past, I decide to plunge ahead with what is usually the most difficult question. "Carla, how did you end up here? Angela tells me that at one point you had a job and were attending classes at the local college. What happened?"

Sometimes this question is met with surprise at the intrusive nature. She simply gives a self-deprecating laugh and begins her story with, "Well, I'm pretty sure I've made every crap decision I could find…" Her life story is told with a brutal honesty and humor that one cannot help but find enchanting. A maze of inappropriate priorities, missed opportunities, and poor-decision making skills snowball into one conclusion. This girl had a knack for attracting abusive, dishonest men and then making awful decisions in an attempt to keep them. Generally, she was too busy trying to fix them to put her own needs first. The story begins to slow and become more serious as she relates her pregnancy and subsequent abandonment at the hands of the last boyfriend. "Having Sarah was my wake-up call. No more playing around. I only have one opportunity to build a life and I want better for her than the life I've been living. I went back to school and found a better job."

The tone of her voice changes and the tale shifts. "It was harder than I thought it was going to be. I had a baby to support and daycare to pay. Even with the loans for school, I could never manage to keep up." Pneumonia for Sarah last fall had been the straw that broke the tiny family's fragile financial rope. By the time the baby was well enough to go back to daycare, Carla had lost her job and the pair was living in her car. Angela had found them washing up in the bathroom of a local library. She brought them to the shelter almost three months ago. They had been model residents.

"Angela and the rest of the workers have been so good to us here. It's been a blessing. I've seen you working here, but haven't had a chance to talk to you. Is this really an interview for a work/study program? I just want to finish my degree and get my life back on track. Not just for me, but for Sarah." With that inherent sense of timing that all children have, the baby picks that exact moment to begin fussing. Carla eases off her chair and gently scoops her up. With care, she settles back down with the toddler on her lap. Watching her being so patient and gentle with this tiny girl tugs a bit at my emotions but reinforces my choice.

Once they are seated again, I know that now is my turn to talk. The story she has told me this morning corroborates every detail Jasper has been able to find. She seems completely honest and genuine in her willingness to improve her life. I see no reason not to continue. I move the document folder in front of me.

"Carla, everything I tell you from this point on is confidential. Can I trust in your discretion?" Her face is easy to read and I can tell she is puzzled by my request. She simply nods and waits. I turn in my chair to face Alice. If this girl intends to discuss our conversation in the future, Alice will suggest that we leave now. I meet my daughter's eyes she and gives a single nod. Her face breaks into a very Cheshire-Alice grin. She practically vibrates in her chair. We both know this is the best part and I work to not appear as eager.

Attempting to contain my grin, I take a deep breath. "The program we are discussing today is a private grant that my husband and I have set up for young women in your situation. We have a small house two blocks from campus. You will be able to live there rent-free for the duration of your college education." This is the first time I get to delve into my folder of tricks. On the top of the stack of papers is a color 5x7 photo of a small craftsman home. She glances at it quickly but her eyes return to mine. Before she can interrupt, I continue.

"Your tuition, books and any supplies will be provided through open accounts with the school." The university letterhead is obvious on the sheets I slide to her next. Her name is listed at the top of each page. At the bottom of the columns is a total dollar amount in parentheses indicating that the fee has been paid and a credit balance exists. This time she spends more time reviewing the papers in front of her. She opens her mouth to speak once, but deciding the better of it, she simply nods at me to continue.

"There is on-site daycare which will be provided for Sarah so that you can attend class and complete homework." A brochure for the daycare facility and completed enrollment forms join the ever-growing stack of documents. I can hear her heart rate speed up a bit at this information. Knowing that quality daycare was an issue for her in the past, I'm not surprised that discussing it incites an emotional response. Without delving too far into that subject, I continue.

"You will receive a moderate monthly stipend for living expenses." This announcement is accompanied by a checking statement with her name at the top and a fresh checkbook in a tidy red leather cover. "Your current student loan will be paid so that when you graduate you will be able to make a fresh start."

"Finally, we have already procured and reviewed your transcripts. You will be admitted to the physical therapy program that begins next month. That was your original major, correct?" She gapes at me with her mouth hanging open as the curriculum outline and individual class schedules join the stack of documents in front of her. Twice she begins to speak and decides to remain silent. Eventually she manages an emphatic nod. God Bless my wonderful husband and his total lack of shame pulling strings at the university to get this child into classes that have already closed.

I wait for her to gather her thoughts. Several minutes pass as she reads and shifts the papers detailing her potential new life. She reviews each individually, and moves them to the side as she finishes reading. When she is finished, her eyes meet mine. Again, I'd love to know what she is thinking. I can tell she is struggling with what to say.

Eventually she manages "What's the catch?" and returns my look with a slightly narrow-eyed stare. I'm not surprised she is suspicious. The women here have learned that life is hard and almost everything comes with a catch. I would have the same concerns in her situation.

"As with almost anything else in life, there are qualifications. Please understand that these are not to control you," I sigh. "We have had several disappointing experiences over the years. These rules were created to allow the best outcome of all involved." This she seems to understand.

"First, only you and Sarah are allowed to live in the house. Should you decide to reconcile with a previous boyfriend or find another partner, you will need to make alternate living arrangements. All support will end at the end of that semester." A simple shake of the head is accompanied by a muttered "like I would make any of those mistakes again." I hope she is sincere in that sentiment. If she were my daughter…then I stop my thoughts mid-stride. She is not my child and the best I can do for this particular young woman is to help get her back on her feet.

My mental wool-gathering is only noticed by Alice who gives me a "hurry-up" type nod. Time to begin again.

"Second, you will maintain a minimum 3.0 GPA during your educational career. Copies of your grade statements will be sent to us. If you begin to have trouble with one specific class, please notify me." A list of phone numbers moves from the folder to join the document pile. "We will be happy to arrange for a tutor above and beyond anything that the school can provide." She remains silent but nods her understanding.

"Third, you will present yourself to the student health center quarterly for a drug test. Will this be a problem?" I ask hoping the determination in my voice masks my apprehension. Throughout the years, I've been disappointed more times than I can count by young women who self-medicate with all manner of substances. The waste of it breaks my heart a bit. I'm pleased to hear a vehement "that won't be a problem."

"Last, and most importantly, you will never tell anyone about what our family is doing for you. It is vital to us that we remain anonymous. If you feel that you can meet these conditions, we are prepared to move you to your new home immediately. I'm happy to give you a few minutes to think it over."

I can practically feel Alice's impatient mental whirring behind me. Waiting for our new charge to fully embrace the opportunity in front of her is not as much of an issue for me. I'd like to chalk it up to age, but that would be kidding myself. My belief is that Alice was born with that inherent impatience and will it will always be a part of her.

For a full minute our candidate makes no moves or sounds. Finally, she gets to the question that I dread but have come to expect. "Why?" she asks firmly, once again narrowing her eyes.

You would think that by now I have a rehearsed answer for this. And yet, each time the question throws me back into the now faded human memories I'd rather not recall. Standing at my wedding with my father whispering in my ear, "You are married now. Don't think you can come home again. He's a good man and you will make this work." The pitying looks of other wives as I unsuccessfully tried to cover bruises with long sleeves. The heart-pounding risk of running away in an attempt to give my baby a chance at a good life. He was my only joy in that horrible time.

Would my life have turned out differently if there had been a shelter for me during my disastrous marriage and eventual flight? Would I change the choices I had made? Perhaps. There is no reason now to dwell on the possibilities of the past. I am well-content with Carlisle and our family. Alice's small hand rests gently on my shoulder for just a moment. I pat her hand and shift gently in my chair as I prepare to reply.

"At one time I was just like you," I admit. A mildly skeptical look crosses her face at my admission. This is usually the time they tell me I look too young to have gone through anything similar to their experiences. I wait for her to interrupt. When she doesn't, I continue. "I have the opportunity to make lives better for women who need help. I can't think of a better way to return some of my blessings." Her mild suspicion gives way to a glance that indicates she knows there is more to this story than I'm willing to tell. An unspoken understanding flows between us.

Getting up from the table, she rocks a quiet Sarah and looks out the small window at the gentle rain. I know it is simply to buy time to make this decision. There is much to be considered. The hours will be long and workload will be difficult. Raising a baby alone is stressful, doing it with a full class schedule will be grueling. The question I hope she is considering is where she will be a few years from now if she does not agree. I wait patiently. Time is a commodity I have in ample supply.

Finally, she raises her head to me and a wide grin emerges. It lights up her whole face. "I don't know you and have no reason to believe in you. I'm pretty sure I'm crazy to take this chance, but I'm going to trust you. Angela says you're good people, so that will be enough for me. I appreciate this opportunity. When do we get started?" This is the most she's said since relaying her life story. Her excitement spreads to the baby who smiles in return. As though little Sarah knows her future is about to change.

Once again, I turn to my daughter. Before I am fully turned in my seat she makes a small squeal, grins broadly, and jumps to her feet. She gives Carla a small hug and practically skips from the room. It occurs to me that Alice never spoke through the entire encounter. If Carla notices that this seems odd, she makes no comment. At this point, I'm sure her tolerance for unusual is skewed a bit high.

I stand and gather the papers. "Would you like to pack up?" I ask. I already know that she arrived here with only a few bags. It won't take long. The faster we make her departure the less notice there will be from the other residents. Making a scene as we leave is counterproductive to our need for discretion.

A few minutes later, Angela and I are carrying Carla's meager possessions out to my Range Rover. The rain has turned to a gentle drizzling, for which I think she is grateful. The shelter has been her home for months. She has bonded with Angela and the staff. Goodbyes are quick in an attempt to keep emotions to a minimum. Sarah can tell her mother's emotions are at the surface. She begins to fuss as we buckle her into the car seats that Edward installed for me this morning.

Carla buckles in next to me as we leave the parking lot. She looks back for one last wave and from the rear-view mirror I see Angela wipe her cheek as she moves back into be building. Thankfully, the motion of the car begins to lull Sarah and she dozes lightly.

We ride in silence for the majority of the trip. Without looking at me directly she started to speak. "You said that the conditions were because other girls made mistakes. Do they mess up a lot? Then you have to start over and pick again." The question implies that she is worried that she won't be able to manage the rules. I don't think she is giving herself enough credit. However, it does not go unnoticed that she refers to herself as a girl. At what point had I stopped referring to myself that way? Chronologically this young woman and I were of a similar age. Without even knowing it, she has given me much to think about. But that can be covered later, when I have time for some quite introspection. Right now we need to get her settled, and she is waiting for me to answer.

"You are right, sometimes we judge incorrectly and have to start over with new students. However, our screening process continues to improve. We have more young women graduate than you would think." I pause to let her absorb this. "Our last student just finished her teaching degree. She and her boys have a home of their own now. Graduation day is truly the best part of this." She seems to absorb this quietly. I try not to intrude on her thoughts as I've already made such a shift in her life. I've learned over the years that there is no problem with a bit of silence.

We pull up to the curb to find that the porch lights are on. I can see the taillights as Alice's Porsche and Emmett's Jeep pull away. They are giving me some privacy with my new charge. I sigh in appreciation as I turn off the ignition and open the door. A soft mist is all that remains of the rain. The colors of the flowers in the overflowing beds are muted by the dim light. Once we are all out of the Rover, I pass the key into her palm. After all, it will be their home for the next several years. Carla picks up Sarah and follows the short sidewalk to the porch. With a shaking hand, she opens the door and they step inside.

As I walk in behind them, I'm once again so very proud of my children. The living room is bright and homey with a fresh coat of soft blue paint. I had picked furniture that is casual, with a toddler-friendly dotted print. The desk in the corner with a laptop and lamp is perfect, just ready for homework. I set the folder of class schedules and other important papers there.

A separate corner of the living room contains a custom toddler-size playhouse. It is an almost perfect scale reproduction of the house but has an open roof and tiny shutters. Sarah is instantly drawn there and Carla lifts her to the opening and sets her down directly in the center. I recognize Emmett's handiwork. He downplays his woodworking skill, but I have yet to find something that he cannot build. How fitting that the biggest of my children should put such care into building something for this tiny child. Knowing that the remainder of the house has been baby-proofed, I feel comfortable leaving the baby to play while we explore the rest of the house.

Moving into the kitchen, I see that Rose has finished stocking the small kitchen with groceries. There is a slow-cooker of soup on the counter. My stomach turns a bit at the smell, but I hear Carla's stomach rumbling. The table is already set and complete with a pink high chair and a bib.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, but she works to check them as she follows me from the eat-in kitchen, and down the hall. The first bedroom is decorated in shades of red and tan. It's always difficult to pick color schemes for people I've never met, but after spending this morning with Carla, I believe my guess was accurate. The closet contains a few new casual and dressy items that Alice has determined would be necessary for a busy mom. I had to put my foot down this time to keep her from going overboard for Carla. Unfortunately, I was not so lucky at keeping her shopping in check for the baby. I'm almost afraid to cross the hall. Watching my charge closely, I gently guide her to the second bedroom. Her gasp is audible, and the tears start again.

The second bedroom is painted soft shades of pink with lavender accents throughout. A white crib sits in the corner with a soft comforter. Stuffed animals, puzzles, and board books line the built in shelves along one wall. Ok, maybe Alice wasn't the only one who went overboard a bit in preparing for this tiny child. I've never been able to hold back on a nursery. I smirk as I take in the closet overflowing with tiny clothes in all shades and styles. There are multiple sizes to accommodate Sarah as she grows which are grouped on the rod from smallest at right and largest at left. A row of tiny shoes and boots are grouped on a rack mounted on the back of the closet wall.

Moving back down the hall, we stop at a built in bookcase with several leather-bound journals on the top shelf. The middle shelf is empty with the exception of a new journal. A pen rests between the first and second page.

Sensing that she is almost overwhelmed at this point, I hug her one last time and step back. "Before I go and let you get adjusted to your new home, I have one last request. Several years ago, one of the students started a journal about her experiences. You'll find it on the top shelf. Every other resident has continued the tradition. If you feel so inclined, please continue. The ability to write about our experiences helps us understand and see them in a different light. The skills and insights you learn as you grow might be invaluable to the women who are here after you."

With that, I say goodbye and move into the living room to kiss Sarah on the head. Moving to the door, I see her carry the journal to the table. I don't have to read over her shoulder to know what that first page contains. I was helping an emotional Heather move as she worried over just the right words to leave to her successor. Eventually, I calmed her with a reminder that the message is important, not the actual words on the page. What she finally chose was short but perfect.

"Welcome to your new life."

I pull the door closed. It's been a good day but I want to be home.

This is my first work of fiction. Constructive criticism is appreciated.


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